


dizzy days

by catffinatedcriminal



Category: SBInc, SleepyBoisIncorporated, Sleepyboisinc, sbi - Fandom, sleepy bois incorporated - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxious Wilbur Soot, Concussions, Dadza, Fainting, Found Family, Gen, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, IRL, Injury, Medical, Ph1lzA minecwaf, a whole lotta anxiety, sorry wilbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28790004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catffinatedcriminal/pseuds/catffinatedcriminal
Summary: Wilbur can’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt dizzy.(includes lots of anxiety/related symptoms, fainting, and hospitals!)(in progress!)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 239





	dizzy days

Wilbur can’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt dizzy. 

Not always in the “oh fuck I’m going to be sick” way, though that still happened all too often. This kind of dizzy was constant, a thrumming in the back of his head that threatened to send him to the floor if he so much as turned in the wrong direction.

Standing up was a threat to his bloodstream, an emergency alarm tripped to rush from his head to his feet and send him plummeting.

It’s the kind of dizzy that forces him to walk a little more closely to walls than he’d like, to be ready to grip the handrails like a lifeline at a moments notice as he skimmed them on the way down to the underground railway - the kind of dizzy that made everything feel just a little less real than it should have been.

If he was being honest, it was fun at first. 

Standing up became a game, a joke amongst friends on his horrible blood pressure, on how he needed more iron in his diet. It was a contest to see how long he could stand without needing to lean into something, or someone. He laughed at the feeling of the constant high that floated in the back of his head, feeling light and sloppy footed without needing a drop of alcohol. 

And then it continued. 

And continued.

And suddenly, it was getting harder to get out of bed in the mornings, and even harder to sleep. It was a little harder to eat the food left in his corner of the pantry. His legs bounced more than usual, though getting up and walking was out of the question. 

It was getting harder to talk to his friends. Computer screens were hard to look at - they were far too bright, and the words danced around the page. Typing became a chore. His thoughts were too light, too airy in his head to be comprehensible to even himself.

Wilbur stopped playing his keyboard first. The guitar followed shortly thereafter.

When his hands started to shake, he figured it was just an ongoing bout of anxiety.

When they didn’t stop, he stopped looking at them. 

In all honesty, he was fine. Sure, it felt impossible to push himself up in bed without feeling like he was falling, and sure, maybe he hadn’t eaten in a few… days? But he was fine.

\----------------

The first time Wilbur passed out, he was more confused than anything. One moment, he was standing up from his desk to stretch, and the next, splayed out on the floor beside his bed, with a pounding in his head.

He figured it was from sitting at his desk for well over 6 hours - he just needed to move around a bit more, so the ‘leg time’ alarms were added to his daily schedule.

The second time, he had the house to himself - Phil and Techno were at a dentist’s appointment, and Tommy was (assumedly) over at Tubbo’s.

Apparently, falling down the last couple of stairs can leave a nasty bruise on one’s back. His elbow still aches a bit from that one, though he’s pretty sure he had just spun around too fast on his door frame when he entered the hallway.

Wilbur got a bit concerned after the 4th time.

He stopped counting after the 7th.

________

Hospitals, it turned out, smelled like shit.

The antiseptic burned his nose, and the lights were too damn bright, burning dots into his eyelids when he squeezed them shut. The paper underneath him was crackly and uncomfortable, the heart monitor beeped incessantly in the back, and the voices around him were far too loud, though everything sounded like he had gotten wet cotton balls in his ears.

All together, his head was pounding.

He honestly just wanted to roll over, curl up and sleep. His consciousness, however, seemed to have other plans, bringing him a little closer to alertness.

“...bur? C…hear me, Wil?”

He could recognize the voice, though everything was groggy and muted and still too much. Phil? Maybe? It sounded a bit like him.

“.. ey, need y...o wake up for me.” 

Wilbur tried to crack an eye open at that one, and to his delight, the lights seemed to have been dimmed. He shifted his head, paper pillowcase crinkling along with it to look to his side.

Phil was sitting in a little plastic chair that had been scooted forward so that his knees were resting on the mattress. His hands were clasped together tightly by Wilbur’s side, and he looked like he had tears in his eyes.  
Shit. Why was Phil crying?

Wilbur tried to shift up onto his elbows in order to look at Phil, but was slammed back into the crinkly mattress with a groan as his arms gave out beneath him.

Damn, he was not helping himself with this headache.

Phil seemed to jostle at the movement, calling out of the room for… someone? A doctor, he assumed. 

Phil sniffled a bit, and oh, shit, yeah, he had definitely been crying. He did not cry often, so odds are, something was fucked. Wilbur assumed it had something to do with the fact that he was in a hospital bed, in the most uncomfortable clothes, and a pounding migraine - headache - thing.

“Hey, Wil. How’re you feeling?”

Honestly, he felt like he had been hit with a semi-truck, beaten by a gang of angry toddlers with aluminum bats, and then slammed head first into a brick wall, though that seemed like too many words, so he settled for the basics.

“Mnh. Head hurts.” Yeah, that should explain it.

Phil chuckled lightly. “I can imagine. You have a pretty nasty concussion.”

A concussion. Huh. That’s a new one.

“Wh’ happened?”

Phil shifted in his seat a bit, placing his hand on top of Wilbur’s and running his thumb over the knuckle of his thumb.

“You passed out in the hallway last night. Tech heard you hit the ground.”

Wilbur froze. That’s… not good. Very not good. Bad, actually. Well, no, he hadn’t done anything, but still, Techno finding him passed out in the hallway must not have been a pretty sight.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Phil sighed, leaning his elbows in the mattress. “Wil, your blood pressure was through the roof when we brought you in. We’re still waiting on a few test results, and they don’t think it’s anything life threatening. But,” Phil cleared his throat. “Given the way you’ve been the past couple of months, I need to know. Has this happened before?”

Oh, fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes work #2 and yes it is a work in progress (sorry! wanted to post something!!)


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